


Day 14: Be My Valentine

by thebright1



Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [14]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), F/F, Gabriel is a wanker, Heartbreak, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22722757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebright1/pseuds/thebright1
Summary: Crowley miracles up a thick black pen. He bends over the card and gives the cherub horns and a silly curly-que moustache. He draws some speech bubbles that say, “Did you use too many miracles today? I would never use a miracle. I’m the archangel Gabriel and I’m a wanker.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: An Ineffable Plan: A Canon Compliant Love Story [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620406
Comments: 11
Kudos: 96





	Day 14: Be My Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a connected series of short stories/drabbles/vignettes written for the Ineffable Valentines challenge on Tumblr. I originally intended for these to all be stand alones, but that's getting harder to maintain as I continue writing, so if you want to really know what's going on, I suggest you start back at [Day 1: Chocolate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22520329) first. 
> 
> All the works in this series are also posted as a chaptered work for easier reading/downloading: [ An Ineffable Plan](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081191/chapters/55213303)

February 14, 2004

Crowley hasn’t seen Aziraphale in six months. He’s gone longer without seeing the angel, he tells himself. It wasn’t so bad. A thousand years between the first time and the second time. It was fine, then. It’s not fine now. He’s lonely, and sad, but he hasn’t been back. Aziraphale told him to stay away. Aziraphale told him  _ never _ . So be it. 

Aziraphale hasn’t called out for him through the link they share, either, although Crowley has tried to look for Aziraphale several times. Not to talk, not really. Just . . . to know that Aziraphale is. . . okay. That he hasn’t gotten himself locked up in prison or in over his head with the wrong group of humans. He gets a sense of where the angel is every time, knows where to find him. Can feel him still here, on planet Earth, going about his business. Or Heaven’s business, whatever that is. Crowley thinks Aziraphale is probably keeping tabs on him through the link as well, although he doesn’t know for sure. He tells himself that he doesn’t care. Lying comes naturally for a demon. Aziraphale hasn’t asked him to take care of a miracle for him. Crowley has been doing all of his own temptations. 

It’s Valentine’s Day and he goes about London early in the evening, spreading ill will because he’s miserable and drunk and he can. He slept most of the day, got up to drink a lot of wine and yell at his plants. Everything on TV rambled on and on about Valentine’s Day. Stupid hearts. Stupid silphium seeds. Stupid humans. 

He never should have gone to Aziraphale back then. His greatest mistake. Confiding in an angel. Confiding in anyone. Thinking he still deserved any kindness, any love. That he might get it somewhere. God cast him out and when She took Her love, She took all the love you were ever going to get. How stupid could he be, to think that She might let him, one of the Fallen, have even a little happiness. He curses God and Heaven and Hell. 

He’s thinking about the silphium seeds and hearts and Aziraphale while he prowls the streets of London. Stupid fucking humans. It’s all their fault, anyway. He resolves to make as many humans miserable tonight as he can. He snaps his fingers over and over. Waiters spill drinks. Food prices go up exorbitantly. Expensive boxes of chocolates mysteriously bloom. Traffic jams pop up out of nowhere. Flowers wilt. He curses all the pink, white, and red hearts that decorate the storefronts.

The last time he and Aziraphale had had a falling out, he’d just gone to bed for forty-odd years. He sneers as he thinks of the word  _ fraternizing _ leaving the angel’s lips, and how it reminds him of the look of panic on Aziraphale’s face when Crowley had called him out and said  _ in love with a demon _ . 

_ Never. Mistake.  _

Crowley wanders into St. James’s Park. Behind him, cars honk, couples fight, flowers wilt. It’s not that cold out, but he hasn’t worn a heavier jacket because he desperately wants to feel numb inside and out. The numbness got him through the worst of times. He would just go to bed for a few years, or a few decades, but he learned how to dream over the last century and now his subconscious fills his nights with Aziraphale. 

Crowley decides to sit in front of the empty duck pond. He takes a flask from his coat pocket, and takes a long swig. A couple walks by slowly, arm in arm. Crowley has seen enough proposals to know what’s coming next. The woman gets down on one knee. The other woman takes a step back, hands coming up to her mouth. Typical stupid humans.  _ What did you think was going to happen?  _ He snaps his fingers and the ring slips out of the proposer’s fingers, falling to the ground. He watches them hunt around in the grass for it and sneers. So long white trousers. 

A man hurries by with a small box of red and white cards and three dozen roses. Crowley unties his shoelace with a snap and the man loses his footing. He puts his hands out to catch himself. The roses are crushed. The box of cards go flying and break open. Valentines and red envelopes scatter as a breeze picks up. The couple have found the ring by this time, and stop what they’re doing to help the man pick up his greeting cards. They’re smiling and exchanging pleasantries. The woman with the white trousers looks at herself and laughs, showing off her engagement ring. Crowley hates them all. 

The trio depart with calls of “Happy Valentine’s Day” and “Congratulations” to each other. Crowley finishes the alcohol in his flask and miracles up some more. Bartenders in nearby restaurants are suddenly pouring much weaker drinks. 

He is about to take another swig when a valentine blown by the wind hits him in the side of his face. He pulls it away from himself, looks at it. The front of the card says “Be My Valentine”. The cover has a large heart, with a small cherub in the corner with an arrow. Inside it says “My love is yours, today and always.” Stupid humans. What do they know about  _ always _ and  _ forever _ ? Their lives are only short little things, less than a century. They don’t know love. They don’t know the absolute absence of love. 

Crowley miracles up a thick black pen. He bends over the card and gives the cherub horns and a silly curly-que moustache. He draws some speech bubbles that say, “Did you use too many miracles today? I would never use a miracle for anything. I’m the archangel Gabriel and I’m a wanker.” He wonders if Aziraphale will smile when he sees it. The bastard. Crowley wonders if he’ll be forgiven if he gives Aziraphale a valentine. If he makes him laugh. Will Aziraphale ring him up? Ask him to come over? Ask him to do a quick miracle for him? 

He writes one sentence in it. “I know what you did with the silphium seed. I knew the whole time.”

He doesn’t sign the card. 

He doesn’t get a response. 

He doesn’t contact Aziraphale again for four years, and when he does, it’s because he’s just delivered the Anti-Christ. 

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments on the series so far!


End file.
